


Left Hand, Yellow

by stevergrsno (noxlunate)



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Board Games, Color Blindness, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Minor Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, Minor Sharon Carter/Sam Wilson, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Twister - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-27 04:55:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17760164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noxlunate/pseuds/stevergrsno
Summary: They settle on UNO, which lasts all of a half hour before someone(Steve)plays a +4 and someone(Sharon)punches a wall.An indefinite moratorium is placed on UNO and finally,finally, Clint says "What if we play Twister?"In which game night is had, and Steve and Bucky are definitely more than a little in love.





	Left Hand, Yellow

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY ALMOST VALENTINES DAY. Here enjoy this fic that started with me seeing a tweet about someone's color blind friend calling out Twister and became 4k of THIS.

The thing about game night is that it could easily suck. With Steve’s general myriad of issues game night could easily have become something he’s forced to suffer through on account of it being Tradition. Instead, it’s somehow become one of his favorite nights of the month, pencilled into his planner at 7 pm every third Friday.

And people say when you reach your late 20s life gets _boring._

“Drink number one of three, Rogers,” Sharon says, shoving a solo cup filled with a mysterious liquid into his hand before continuing on with, “We’re not going above three this time on account of the last time you convinced us it’d be _fiiiine_ and you ended up puking on my favorite shoes.”

Which, okay, _fair._ Steve can drink on his new meds, which is a nice change from the old ones, but they do intensify the effects. It means they’re all still learning exactly how much he can handle before he reaches full White Girl Wasted status. Well, Steve’s learning, and his friends are having too much fun making fun of Steve for being a One Shot Wonder.

“Thanks Mom,” Steve says with a sketchy little salute, even if Sharon is being decently, relatively, _kinda-sorta_ reasonable.

“Don’t be a jerk, Carter’s kicked your ass for less,” Bucky says, dropping a kiss to the top of Steve’s head as he passes by him and into the kitchen.

"Carter would never. I'm an invalid," Steve insists and waves around his cast encased arm. It’s the result of a truly unfortunate dare with Clint that had involved a lot of Bucky and Nat sighing and reminding the both of them that they were ADULTS these days and that their jumping off of things they shouldn't be jumping off of days _should_ be well behind them. Steve and Clint had _clearly_ decided that was nonsense, and that youthful stupidity lasts as long as they want it to.

"You're an invalid only because you're a dumbass. You and Clint both," Natasha heaves a heavy sigh, the sigh of the _truly_ beleaguered, but Steve’s not about to fall for it. He can see the trace of a smile at the corners of her mouth and the look in her eyes when she glances toward Clint. She wouldn't still be with the guy if she couldn't handle a little bit of dumbassery.

"In my defense, it was Clint's idea," Steve says, because it seems like a good one.

"That's never a defense, Rogers."

 

Once they've all scarfed down Sam’s cooking, going at it like a pack of animals, and have settled with drinks in hand, Natasha says "I vote we play Monopoly."

There comes a resounding chorus of "NO"s, nobody willing to get trapped into a game of Monopoly with Nat, not even Clint.

"Nobody ever lets me have any fun." She sighs, shoving the box back into the cabinet with a dark look.

 

Somebody suggests Risk, which after the debacle in January has been off the menu and gets shot down immediately, then someone brings up Clue but Bucky and Nat both cheat and no one's ever figured out exactly how.

They settle on UNO, which lasts all of a half hour before someone ( _Steve_ ) plays a +4 and someone ( _Sharon_ ) punches a wall.

An indefinite moratorium is placed on UNO and finally, _finally,_ Clint says "What if we play Twister?"

Between the cast and how bad the vertigo from one of his meds has been fucking him up the past few weeks he's not exactly in fighting shape, and everyone knows just how competitive he gets about games. _Any games._ Which is how he ends up handed a board that he can only kind of figure out what the colors are.

Steve gives the little arrow a flick and with a "right hand on yellow," they're off.

 

Three hours and two more drinks for Steve later they've made it through nine games. Bucky and Nat have each won three, with Clint, Sam and Sharon each winning one. Steve has by now gotten to just tipsy enough that he's no longer really trying to parse out the jumble of supposedly colored circles in front of him and is instead relying on his knowledge of the layout of the twister mat to put Bucky into the most precarious positions he can.

If those positions occasionally put Bucky's ass into the best state of viewing possible then, well, Steve can't be blamed for having an attractive boyfriend and making the most of it.

 

Steve tilts his head, eyeing the mat as he spins the wheel almost absently.

"Left hand yellow," He says without bothering to look at the board, instead focusing on where Bucky is groaning and muttering and folding himself practically in half to get his hand positioned on the circle right next to his right foot.

Bent over like that Bucky’s dark jeans cup his ass in a pretty spectacular way and Steve is maybe, possibly, _definitely_ entertaining thoughts of biting it.

"That's a pretty nice look on you babe," Steve says, feeling a little lazy and warm with his eyes on Bucky as Clint falls on his ass and then bodily rolls away from the twister mat.

"I think a nicer look on me would be me putting my left hand on, I don't know, _red?_ I was hoping twister wouldn't make me feel like I was at that yoga class you like to con me into, then tap out of and watch me do,” Bucky says, a hint of accusation in his voice as he shoots a look at Steve through the mess that is his hair after this many games of Twister.

"Excuse you, I don't do that intentionally. I'm just delicate," Steve says with an indignant sniff.

The audible scoffing from everyone in the room is completely uncalled for, honestly.

"I hate you all," Steve says sincerely and spins again, "Right foot blue."

"Are you even looking at the board Rogers or are you just fucking with us?" Sam asks as he attempts to contort his body and ends up toppling over, taking Sharon with him.

"Are you implying I'm not a rule abiding citizen?" Steve asks, all fake offense. He even presses a hand to his chest for emphasis.

"Yes," Sam says seriously, sitting his ass down on the couch next to Steve and reaching over him to spin the arrow.

 

Sam and Sharon dropping leaves Bucky and Natasha as the last two standing, which is pretty par for the course with these things. Natasha claims it's her former gymnastics training shining through, and Bucky claims he's just good at everything.

(Steve knows it's _also_ Bucky's former gymnastics training, but Bucky doesn't exactly brag about that. Steve understands; Gymnastics hadn’t exactly earned Bucky the most flattering nicknames when they’d been in highschool.)

"Ladies and gentleman, we've reached the final showdown. Romanoff versus Barnes, in it for the win," Clint says in a fake radio broadcaster voice, his hand held to his mouth like he has an invisible microphone, "Sam Wilson, how do you feel about this matchup? Is it everything you've dreamed of?"

"Not even close, Barton."

Steve shakes his head at the both of them, spinning the wheel again and squinting at the board before shrugging and going with "Left foot, red."

 

They go six more spins before Steve yawns and flops onto the floor, staring up at the both of them, "How long are you two going to keep this up for?" He asks, staring at Bucky's face through Natasha's legs.

"Never," They say at the same time, equally as stony and determined.

Steve, however, is getting to the point in the evening where he's been watching Bucky bend himself into precarious positions all night and is ready for Bucky to take him home so that _Steve_ can get him bent over precariously. Or maybe just comfortably spread out under Steve in their bed. Steve is 29. He is old, practically _wizened,_ and precarious positions, while fun, are not always needed.

"Lightning round," Steve declares and Natasha and Bucky groan simultaneously while Sam and Sharon light up like they've been given a gift. Lightning round was devised for these exact situations. The moments when someone wants to go the hell home for whatever reason but two people are stuck in a death match, refusing to end the game sooner.

Neither person being willing to forfeit means the entire group gets to shout out whatever bullshit they want until the game is over. It’s _perfect._

"I hate lightning round," Bucky says, sounding like Steve is insisting on some sort of truly terrible punishment.

"I _love_ lightning round," Sam and Sharon say, almost reverent.

Then Sam starts them off with "LEFT HAND, GREEN!"

And then they're off.

It takes six more shouted out colors from the group of them before Natasha makes some sort of squeaking, indignant noise and topples forward.

Bucky, victorious, flops onto his back on the mat gladly, landing half on top of Natasha.

"You're crushing me," Natasha complains, jabbing pointy nails into Bucky's side. Steve winces, sympathetic, experience with Natasha meaning Steve is well aware of how damn painful that is.

"Are you saying I'm fat?" Bucky asks, eyes widening in fake offense as he ‘accidentally’ digs an elbow into Natasha’s stomach.

Natasha, to her credit, seems entirely unphased.

"If the shoe fits. Or rather, doesn't."

"I want a rematch just to beat her all over again," Bucky says, rolling to look at Steve.

"I want you to take me home so that we can have a rematch of our own," Steve says with what he’s sure is a truly ridiculous once over of Bucky.

Bucky doesn't seem to find any objections to that.

 

Steve is just tipsy (not drunk! Just tipsy! No matter what his friends kept insisting as he lead Bucky out of Sam’s apartment) enough that everything is in that nice, happy state of being and there's not much more he really wants do than shove his boyfriend into their bed and stare down at him.

"God, I fuckin love you," He says, following him down onto the bed, landing with his legs on either side of Bucky's waist.

"You love watching me bent into ridiculous positions is what you like. I'm starting to think you're only with me for my body."

"Oh yeah, that's why we've been together all these years, my love of your body."

"At least we've come to a point of total honesty in this relationship," Bucky says with what has to be the world's fakest sigh, “The point where I can admit that I’m really in it because you’ve got a big dick.”

"You're ridiculous," Steve says, struggling to get Bucky out of his shirt one handed, "And so is this fucking cast, _jesus."_

"You know, I could probably get this off of myself," Bucky says, already wiggling to divest himself of his shirt.

Steve takes a moment to lean back and take it all in. Bucky, shirtless and spread out in underneath him.

It’s perfect. He’s _perfect._

“Holy shit, you’re perfect. I’m gonna eat you up baby. Like a fuckin _snack_ ,” Steve says, reverent, sliding a hand up Bucky’s stomach, scratching his fingers through the wiry hairs there and then moving up to his chest, making a solid attempt to touch everywhere he can reach.

“Jesus christ, I forget how wordy you get when your ass is drunk,” Bucky says, something pleased in his tone, his eyes bright and warm where they’re looking up at Steve. Steve always feels a little trapped in that gaze, this feeling like maybe he could just curl up in it forever and be happier there than he ever would anywhere else.

“I’m not drunk, you’re drunk,” Steve insists, shaking himself past the sappy thoughts, dipping down to bite at Bucky’s left pec and then the right, “Gotta make ‘em symmetrical.”

He worries the skin between his teeth and sucks, leaving the skin blooming with color where his mouth had been and Bucky starting to make delicious hitching noises that Steve wants to eat up.

“Yeah-- Gotta make ‘em perfect, huh?”

“Mmmh, not sure you can improve upon what’s already perfect, Buck,” Steve says and pulls back to give Bucky what he’s sure is a dopey smile.

“ _Sweetheart._ You’re a fucking sap, jesus christ.”

A hand slides into his hair and Steve angles into it, letting his eyes go soft and half lidded for a moment, the whole world narrowed down to Bucky and Bucky beneath him and Bucky’s hand in his hair and Steve’s good hand pressed into Bucky’s ribs.

“Only for you,” Steve says, turning his head until he can brush his lips against the soft skin of Bucky’s inner, “Always only for you.”

The thing is, the big -possibly melodramatic- crux of his life has always been this; The fact that it _has_ always been Bucky. Whether it was Bucky as his best friend when they were kids, or the goddamn love of his life since he was 16 and didn’t know any better, Bucky has been a central point of Steve’s life, the only person Steve’s ever looked at and thought _‘yes’_ and _‘always’_ about.

“You should fuck me,” Bucky says, angling to press soft lips against Steve’s jaw followed by the scratch of teeth.

“You can do me next,” Steve says and Bucky waves him off like he doesn’t particularly care about what he calls Steve’s ‘fair is fair nonsense.’

“Next thing I know you’re gonna have spreadsheets to keep things fair.”

“Who says I don’t already?”

“Me. I know everything you do Rogers, you couldn’t hide a fairness spreadsheet from me.”

“I could have secrets,” Steve insists, shoving Bucky back down and shifting down until he can press kisses into the spot just below Bucky’s belly button, slowly dragging them lower, “I could be a man of mystery.”

“You could also be the man who’s fucking me, but instead you’re here arguing,” Bucky insists, shimmying his hips a little and shoving his pants down.

“I can multitask.” Steve says, dragging Bucky's pants down further in an effort to get him entirely out of them and biting at his newly revealed thighs as though to prove his point. It gets a shuddering gasp out of Bucky, which is maybe not an agreement, but it's close enough to count.

"I hate you," Bucky lies, shifting restlessly under Steve, arching up in a way Steve's not even sure he's quite conscious of.

"Well that's not very nice of you," Steve tsks, sliding his good hand down over Bucky's thigh, scratching absently at the coarse hair there and then digging in his nails just enough to sting, just enough to watch the muscles jump and Bucky’s eyes go all half lidded,"And here I am being _so nice."_

“Oh yeah baby, that’s what you’re known for. Everyone says it, ‘that little Stevie Rogers, look how _nice he is,_ I bet he- _shit,”_ His words cut off sharply when Steve swallows down his dick, breaking off into a low sort of noise as his hands come up to Steve’s head, fingers lacing through his hair. “ _Fuck.”_

Steve brings his cast encased arm up to lay across Bucky’s hips and pulls off with a grin, “You were saying?”

He curls a hand around Bucky’s dick before he manages to actually get a word out, leaving him making a garbled sort of noise as Steve jerks him a few times before letting up.

“You’re evil,” Bucky mutters, head thumping back against the pillows.

“I’m not. I’m a saint,” Steve argues, mouthing at the base of Bucky’s dick just to hear the way it makes Bucky’s next argument come out just that little bit weaker.

“Oh yeah, you’re Saint Rogers, patron saint of assholes.”

"That's me. Saint Rogers. Hear to bless your soon to be momentarily departed soul. Now give me five hail mary's and lift your hips a little." Steve says with a gentle swat to Bucky's flank.

Bucky rolls his eyes but does the last bit as he's told, even as every line of his body exudes impatience as Steve leans over him to fumble through the drawer one handed until he finds the lube.

They don't do this every day, not even close, but it's often enough that Steve knows he'll get shit if he tries to draw out the prep, even if there's a part of him that wants Bucky squirming on his fingers for as long as possible. It means he's breezing through it all before he's shifting up on his knees further, Bucky's legs falling open around Steve's hips as he lines himself up.

"C'mon, _baby,_ c'mon," Bucky chants, broad hands curling over Steve's ribs, fluttering up to his shoulders and then back to the bed.

It works, because of course it does. Steve can't deny Bucky anything. Not that he'd ever really try. He's been wrapped around Bucky since they were snot nosed kids on the playground, in love with him since he knew what that even meant. There's not a day that goes by when Steve doesn't think he'd give the world for him.

He sinks forward, good hand scrabbling at Bucky's hip like it will keep it from being as overwhelming as it always is.

And it’s not a tight fit. Not _really_ , Steve knows that, but god it always feels like it is, and Bucky always acts like it is, making the sweetest noises and twisting his hands into their bedding when Steve fucks into him.

"God, _Steve, god,"_ It's not quite a whimper, but _god,_ it's _close,_ and Steve rocks forward, pulls halfway out and then fucks back in hard just to hear it turn into one.

He sets a pace, Bucky rocking back into him with every thrust, and it’s not- it’s not something that’s going to last, not with the alcohol running through Steve and how Bucky looks below him and fucking _everything._

“God- you’re- _fuck,”_ He gets out, somehow, through some fucking miracle of the goddamn universe, managing to balance enough that he can wrap a hand around Bucky’s cock.

After that it’s all sweat, the soft clutch of Bucky’s body, the noises that fall from Bucky’s lips when he comes, and Steve’s “I love you,” bitten into Bucky’s throat when he follows.

 

They end up in a heap on the bed, sweaty and happy and when Steve looks at Bucky all he can think is _‘jesus fucking christ,’_ and ‘ _god just look at this asshole,’_

And _‘I love you so fucking much,’_

And _‘I never want this to end.’_

It fills him with a strange sense of calm. Something solemn and stubborn, teetering on the edge of something he thinks has been a long time coming.

“Marry me,” Steve says into the quiet of the room, pressing his nose into the edge of Bucky’s shoulder.

“Cant, you’re drunk,” Bucky mumbles, voice already thick with the edges of sleep.

“I sweat it all out, I’m practically sober,” Steve says, toying absently with Bucky’s fingers, lifting each one and wiggling it until Bucky gets just annoyed enough to swat gently at him, “Marry me.”

“You’re so romantic,” Bucky says, and he sounds more awake now, but Steve can also practically hear the roll of his eyes.  

“Damn right I am. Also, that’s not an answer. Marry me.”

Bucky sighs, overblown and dramatic, taking Steve’s hand and tugging until Steve ends up draped over Bucky’s chest. Steve takes the chance that’s been laid out in front of him to place a kiss smack dab in the middle of Bucky’s chest, rubbing his nose through the coarse hair there.

“Yeah, sure, I’ll marry you. Why not?” Bucky says, his hand moving up to comb through the back of Steve’s hair.

Steve melts under it, even as he tries to muster enough snark for it to be noticable when he says “And _I’m_ apparently the one here who’s not a romantic. I’m gonna go find someone who’s so romantic they’ll cry when I ask them to marry me. We’ll run off to a chapel and get hitched right away.”

Steve counters the words with another kiss to Bucky’s chest, right over his heart.  

“I’m cryin on the inside,” Bucky says, then cups his hand around the back of Steve’s neck and gives him a gentle shake, “And  like hell you are Rogers. We’ll go get hitched right this second. I’ll put a ring on it so hard you won’t know what hit you.”

“I don’t know,” Steve says, hiding his smile from Bucky in his chest, “You don’t exactly seem excited about it, let alone in any sort of rush.”

“Wanna bet?” And then Bucky’s rolling out from under Steve and crossing the room bare ass naked to dig around in his book shelf. Steve stays well away from the book shelf, because Bucky’s always had a _system_ and Steve’s not about to get griped at for a week about how he put a book back on the wrong shelf. It means it’s always been the perfect place for Bucky to hide stuff though, and so Steve’s not exactly surprised when he pulls a few books forward, snags something out from behind them and then chucks it at Steve’s head.

Steve snatches it out of the air and-

“What the fuck? Is this- are you?”

In his hand is a goddamn velvet box and Steve’s pretty sure he can hazard an accurate guess as to what the hell is inside.

“I was going to ask on our anniversary. Y'know, like a normal person? I had it all planned out and everything, but you had to be you and get impatient on me,” Bucky says, all fond irritation as he watches Steve stare between him and the damn box.

Steve’s not by his nature an overly emotional person. Or at least, Steve would claim he’s _not._ He feels things strongly, sure, and he’s determined and passionate and willing to fight for anything he feels is worthy of it, but he doesn’t get sappy and teary eyed easily. And he’s certainly never been much of a cryer.

Despite this, he can feel the tell tale tightness in his throat as he stares down at the little black velvet box in his hands.

“You were going to propose. Jesus. _Buck.”_

“Steven Grant Pain In My Goddamn Ass Rogers,” Bucky says, crawling back into the bed on his knees and snatching the box back from Steve’s hands. Steve’s a little tempted to tuck it closer to him like a dragon guarding something particularly precious, but he’s only got one good arm at the moment and Bucky’s too damn fast and also maybe he’d like to here where Bucky’s going with this. Maybe just a little. “I’ve been in love with you since I was too young to even comprehend what that _meant,_ and I don’t want to ever live a day without you. _Of course_ I was going to propose.”

He flicks the box open and there it is, staring up at Steve from Bucky’s hands, a ring. It’s nothing flashy, or ostentatious. Just a ring. Simple _. Perfect._  

“So that’s a yes to marrying me then?” Steve asks, feeling the smile spread across his face when Bucky rolls his eyes at him.

“Yeah Stevie. It’s a yes. If we’re proposing to each other I want a goddamn ring though,” Bucky says, plucking the ring from the box and sliding it onto Steve’s finger.

“Of course. We’ll get you something real nice. Flashy. Lots of diamonds. It’ll be so big your Aunt Muriel will want to steal it,” Steve says, cupping the back of Bucky’s neck and pulling him in so he can kiss him hard.

“Oh goodie, just what every guy dreams of,” Bucky says and then, softer and with feeling, “I love you.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, and then softer, against Bucky’s mouth, “I love you too, Buck.”

**Author's Note:**

> THANKS FOR READING. if you want to scream with me about things I'm stevergrsno on dreamwidth where I LURK and @attackofthezee on twitter where I scream about things at all hours of the day and night.


End file.
